Read Online Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) by Danielle Girard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Danielle Girard
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glanced down at the salty pork on his plate and narrowed his eyes. The meals were always salty now. Did they know?
He swept his arm across the table and shoved the plate to the floor. It shattered in a wonderful crash. Two maids came flying from the kitchen.
"Sweep this up," he demanded. "And then get back to the kitchen. There will be no women in my dining room."
The houseboy let them clean without helping. Oskar nodded to him. Someone who understood the pecking order.
Feliks met his gaze and Oskar waved him off. "Go, nyezhenka," he said, using the Russian word for "sissy."
Feliks didn't argue. He just scurried out of the room like a mouse.
"He'll not eat here again," he said to Andrei. There would be no women in his dining room, even in men's clothing.
The phone rang and Andrei brought it to him.
He answered without a sound.
"Krov, please," the man said, pronouncing Kirov's name like the Russian word for blood.
His jaw tensed. "Eta Kirov," he answered in Russian.
"I've done it."
"You've been successful?"
"I have him."
Viktor eased himself back into the ornate mahogany chair.
"You are pleased?"
He smiled—the first smile in months. "I am pleased."
"I am glad."
He waved the houseboy from the room and dropped his voice to a gravelly whisper. "You'll tell no one of this. You deal only with me."
The man on the other end was easy. "What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing yet. I'll be in touch."
He hung up the phone and settled back into the chair, draining his glass. The vodka was smooth against his lips, the cold moving down his chest and easing his pain. Grey Goose was tonight's medicine of choice, although he preferred Ketel One. He debated calling for Andrei but decided against it. It was his turn to enjoy the solitude. He pulled the pills from his pocket and let two roll onto his palm. He took them with the final dribble of vodka and began to rub a small circle on his chest with the ball of his thumb.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, pushing until the push hurt more than the pain. Damn the pain. This wasn't supposed to be how Oskar Kirov died. He thought of his Sophya and Viktor, waiting for him. At least there would be Viktor.
The pain settled deeper and he could no longer reach it with his thumb.
"Andrei," he roared.
The boy came running and Oskar pointed to the vodka on the table in front of him. "My glass is empty."
The boy filled it and stood beside him as he drank in silence. A third glass, then a fourth, until the bottle grew empty and the pain grew soft.
Chapter 8
"Are you going to find him?" Peter asked.
Cody forced herself to nod. She would find him... even if it killed her. "Can I ask you about school today?"
Peter glanced over his shoulder, looking for the comfort of his father.
"He'll be right back. He's just making us hot chocolate, remember?"
Peter nodded.
Cody smoothed her hands across her jeans and slid down to the stair below Peter so they were eye-to-eye. "Can you start with this morning? When was the first time you saw R.J.?"
"We have math first, with Dr. Teller," Peter said, rolling his eyes the way only children do about teachers.
"Did you see him before class?"
He shook his head. "I was real late. Dad got an important phone call before we left."
Cody nodded, thinking again what a fool she'd been to trust Travis to pick up her son. "And after that?"
"We go to different homerooms, but we always meet up for lunch."
"What did you guys talk about?"
Peter shrugged. "The normal stuff." He paused and his face brightened. "And about tonight. What games we were going to play, what to get on our pizza."
"And then?"
"Then more school."
"And you didn't see him?"
Peter shook his head. "Not till P.E. with Mr. Crowley."
"And everything was normal in P.E.?"
Peter nodded.
"And after that?"
"After that, we went back inside to get our stuff, but then R.J. ran back."
Cody felt her breath still. This was it, the most important information. "Why did he go
He swept his arm across the table and shoved the plate to the floor. It shattered in a wonderful crash. Two maids came flying from the kitchen.
"Sweep this up," he demanded. "And then get back to the kitchen. There will be no women in my dining room."
The houseboy let them clean without helping. Oskar nodded to him. Someone who understood the pecking order.
Feliks met his gaze and Oskar waved him off. "Go, nyezhenka," he said, using the Russian word for "sissy."
Feliks didn't argue. He just scurried out of the room like a mouse.
"He'll not eat here again," he said to Andrei. There would be no women in his dining room, even in men's clothing.
The phone rang and Andrei brought it to him.
He answered without a sound.
"Krov, please," the man said, pronouncing Kirov's name like the Russian word for blood.
His jaw tensed. "Eta Kirov," he answered in Russian.
"I've done it."
"You've been successful?"
"I have him."
Viktor eased himself back into the ornate mahogany chair.
"You are pleased?"
He smiled—the first smile in months. "I am pleased."
"I am glad."
He waved the houseboy from the room and dropped his voice to a gravelly whisper. "You'll tell no one of this. You deal only with me."
The man on the other end was easy. "What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing yet. I'll be in touch."
He hung up the phone and settled back into the chair, draining his glass. The vodka was smooth against his lips, the cold moving down his chest and easing his pain. Grey Goose was tonight's medicine of choice, although he preferred Ketel One. He debated calling for Andrei but decided against it. It was his turn to enjoy the solitude. He pulled the pills from his pocket and let two roll onto his palm. He took them with the final dribble of vodka and began to rub a small circle on his chest with the ball of his thumb.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, pushing until the push hurt more than the pain. Damn the pain. This wasn't supposed to be how Oskar Kirov died. He thought of his Sophya and Viktor, waiting for him. At least there would be Viktor.
The pain settled deeper and he could no longer reach it with his thumb.
"Andrei," he roared.
The boy came running and Oskar pointed to the vodka on the table in front of him. "My glass is empty."
The boy filled it and stood beside him as he drank in silence. A third glass, then a fourth, until the bottle grew empty and the pain grew soft.
Chapter 8
"Are you going to find him?" Peter asked.
Cody forced herself to nod. She would find him... even if it killed her. "Can I ask you about school today?"
Peter glanced over his shoulder, looking for the comfort of his father.
"He'll be right back. He's just making us hot chocolate, remember?"
Peter nodded.
Cody smoothed her hands across her jeans and slid down to the stair below Peter so they were eye-to-eye. "Can you start with this morning? When was the first time you saw R.J.?"
"We have math first, with Dr. Teller," Peter said, rolling his eyes the way only children do about teachers.
"Did you see him before class?"
He shook his head. "I was real late. Dad got an important phone call before we left."
Cody nodded, thinking again what a fool she'd been to trust Travis to pick up her son. "And after that?"
"We go to different homerooms, but we always meet up for lunch."
"What did you guys talk about?"
Peter shrugged. "The normal stuff." He paused and his face brightened. "And about tonight. What games we were going to play, what to get on our pizza."
"And then?"
"Then more school."
"And you didn't see him?"
Peter shook his head. "Not till P.E. with Mr. Crowley."
"And everything was normal in P.E.?"
Peter nodded.
"And after that?"
"After that, we went back inside to get our stuff, but then R.J. ran back."
Cody felt her breath still. This was it, the most important information. "Why did he go
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